Viva La Monte d'Or
by CookiesForEmmy
Summary: Randall thought that his revenge could be successful with the help of Jean Descole. However, good companionships don't come so easy. [Double-ending.]
1. Chapter 1

The dark forestry of palm trees surrounding Monte d'Or was disclosed from the lights igniting the busy parade streets - perfect for a swift escape. With every couple of steps, the Gentleman twirled round, letting the tails of his white coat brush the mossy green walls whilst he tapped his toes along to the tune on his lips.

_"1, 2, 3, 4... Havoc abound in Monte d'Or... The most dangerous tricks you'll ever know... To leave Henry Ledore immersed in woe..."_

The masked criminal released a little muffled laugh to complete his symphony before turning the corner and kicking the door to Tingly Tower open. To his surprise, his companion had already returned - Jean Descole. Perhaps one could even refer to him as a _saviour_ to the Gentleman. Had he not been there to enlighten to path for the amnesiac redhead - the ruins, the mask, Henry - he wouldn't have been dancing on the rooftops of Monte d'Or that day, plaguing the town with so-called "miracles" to get back what once was his.

Yet there was still something odd at why such a villainous character had offered to help him. What was he getting out of it? Was there something he just couldn't remember - a clue? At times, the man acted like a complete and utter _prick_. Nothing about the guy had seemed welcoming, even in the first place. Even so, the Gentleman had been obliged to work with him, as he had little hope else where.

Speaking of said companion...

"Ah, you're back, Ascot. It's about time."

The Gentleman groaned. The room was surprisingly hot, even to him, who had spent hours baking in the sun whilst cropping the fields of a farm. Descole had apparently been waiting for him to return for a while, but was still wearing his thick feather boa and cape, which he dramatically swished back whenever he walked.

Mockingly, the Masked Gentleman answered, "Well, it's nice of you to be concerned about me."

"My job was done easily enough," Descole said with a smirk. Then he pointed to the corner of the room at an average-sized bundle. Was that...?

"Hershel Layton and Emmy Altava."

"You...kidnapped these people?" The Gentleman was awestruck. They must have just been enjoying the festivities... The female of the two was wearing a long pink gown from the local boutique and a small clump of her hair was up in a bun. The male was dressed in white - a suit and a tall top hat. Some trails of confetti were still remaining on their clothing from the parade outside.

_Hershel... _

Yes - that name. The memory was faint, but he knew that the man in front of him now was this Hershel. He must have been in the ruins, involved in the accident... He must have had a big involvement in the Gentleman's life prior amnesia.

He leaned in further, but as he did, the victim's eyes opened.

"...Hm? Where... Oh my!"

Descole's face was merely visible in the shadows, but a smirk was clearly playing on it. "Seems as if you've fallen right into my trap, Layton," he purred.

_Hershel...Layton..._

Hershel squirmed around irritably, shouting out Descole's name. Miss Altava had awoken too from the sleep caused by whatever Descole had drugged them with. She'd kicked her heels across the room, and was furiously scrabbling to remove the rope around her chest, anonymous to Layton's discomfort...

The Masked Gentleman couldn't help but wonder how Jean Descole was so familiar with these two.

Just as he was thinking, though, the man himself stepped forward, holding a long, glistening sword. "Time to teach you two a lesson."

"W-What?" the Gentleman babbled. "Y-You're not going to h-hurt them with that, are you?"

"I thought you'd be thankful, Ascot. These two were getting in the way of your plan," Descole said, "and now I can get rid of them for you."

"B-But there's no need to do it that way!"

"Oh, really?" Descole smirked and laughed manically. "Well, it doesn't look like you're well suited to your role. I, however, am. So beat it, country bumpkin."

He pushed past the white-glad gentleman without hesitation, throwing the sheath his sword was in aside and tilting his blade. It was now or never. His right leg was pushed back in preparation, like a bull heading towards a blanket - and with full blast, blade first, he sprinted. The Gentleman sprinted afterwards.

The final thing he could hear was a song much like his own: "

_"The most devious man to have ever flown _

_Has effortlessly been turned to stone."_

* * *

**Yoo hoo! Be sure to read the next chapter - use ctrl+f to zip to "the Gentleman sprinted afterwards"! The next has a different ending!**


	2. Dark chapter

The dark forestry of palm trees surrounding Monte d'Or was disclosed from the lights igniting the busy parade streets - perfect for a swift escape. With every couple of steps, the Gentleman twirled round, letting the tails of his white coat brush the mossy green walls whilst he tapped his toes along to the tune on his lips.

_"1, 2, 3, 4... Havoc abound in Monte d'Or... The most dangerous tricks you'll ever know... To leave Henry Ledore immersed in woe..." _

The masked criminal released a little muffled laugh to complete his symphony before turning the corner and kicking the door to Tingly Tower open. To his surprise, his companion had already returned - Jean Descole. Perhaps one could even refer to him as a _savior_ to the Gentleman. Had he not been there to enlighten to path for the amnesiac redhead - the ruins, the mask, Henry - he wouldn't have been dancing on the rooftops of Monte d'Or that day, plaguing the town with so-called "miracles" to get back what once was his.

Yet there was still something odd at why such a villainous character had offered to help him. What was he getting out of it? Was there something he just couldn't remember - a clue? At times, the man acted like a complete and utter _prick_. Nothing about the guy had seemed welcoming, even in the first place. Even so, the Gentleman had been obliged to work with him, as he had little hope else where.

Speaking of said companion...

"Ah, you're back, Ascot. It's about time." T

he Gentleman groaned. The room was surprisingly hot, even to him, who had spent hours baking in the sun whilst cropping the fields of a farm. Descole had apparently been waiting for him to return for a while, but was still wearing his thick feather boa and cape, which he dramatically swished back whenever he walked.

Mockingly, the Masked Gentleman answered, "Well, it's nice of you to be concerned about me."

"My job was done easily enough," Descole said with a smirk. Then he pointed to the corner of the room at an average-sized bundle. Was that...?

"Hershel Layton and Emmy Altava."

"You...kidnapped these people?"

The Gentleman was awestruck. They must have just been enjoying the festivities... The female of the two was wearing a long pink gown from the local boutique and a small clump of her hair was up in a bun. The male was dressed in white - a suit and a tall top hat. Some trails of confetti were still remaining on their clothing from the parade outside.

_Hershel..._

Yes - that name. The memory was faint, but he knew that the man in front of him now was this Hershel. He must have been in the ruins, involved in the accident... He must have had a big involvement in the Gentleman's life prior amnesia.

He leaned in further, but as he did, the victim's eyes opened.

"...Hm? Where... Oh my!"

Descole's face was merely visible in the shadows, but a smirk was clearly playing on it. "Seems as if you've fallen right into my trap, Layton," he purred.

_Hershel...Layton..._

Hershel squirmed around irritably, shouting out Descole's name. Miss Altava had awoken too from the sleep caused by whatever Descole had drugged them with. She'd kicked her heels across the room, and was furiously scrabbling to remove the rope around her chest, anonymous to Layton's discomfort...

The Masked Gentleman couldn't help but wonder how Jean Descole was so familiar with these two. J

ust as he was thinking, though, the man himself stepped forward, holding a long, glistening sword. "Time to teach you two a lesson."

"W-What?" the Gentleman babbled. "Y-You're not going to h-hurt them with that, are you?"

"I thought you'd be thankful, Ascot. These two were getting in the way of your plan," Descole said, "and now I can get rid of them for you."

"B-But there's no need to do it that way!"

"Oh, really?" Descole smirked and laughed manically. "Well, it doesn't look like you're well suited to your role. I, however, am. So beat it, country bumpkin."

He pushed past the white-glad gentleman without hesitation, throwing the sheath his sword was in aside and tilting his blade. It was now or never. His right leg was pushed back in preparation, like a bull heading towards a blanket - and with full blast, blade first, he sprinted. The Gentleman sprinted afterwards. The clash was something extraordinary.

Everything went black for the Masked Gentleman, and he wondered if he was dead - but no, he couldn't be. He was still thinking, self-aware. Suddenly, his eyes peeled open. God, what had just happened...

A sword soaked to the tip in crimson led his suspicions as to what happened haywire. He could hardly breathe; the air just felt so thick, an alarming atmosphere lurking. It was silent. His mind told him to slowly get up, which he managed to do, but it wasn't that easy.

And there, it lied. The blood bathed body of Jean Descole.

Blood had splattered on to the faces of the hostages too. They were shaking furiously, holding each other's hands, still bound together. The Randall Ascot of the past would have surely been sickened by such a sight. Mummies were no match for him, but blood on a fresh body? A horrific thought. But that Randall Ascot was gone. Vanished. Non-existent. He smiled to himself, pleasured by what he had achieved. For him, this body was a trophy.

He knew it was time to stage the next miracle.


End file.
